Cultured Lover
by holleyriddle
Summary: Set some months after Clarice runs away with Hannibal. She loves him, but she is having doubts. Will Hannibal tell her what she needs to hear? One-shot, some sensuality. Please review!


Disclaimer: The characters below belong to Thomas Harris. I am merely borrowing them.

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><p>Clarice Starling lay on the sofa in the room she shared with her lover, Doctor Hannibal Lecter, in Rome's Hotel Splendide Royal. She gazed through the window at the terrace, listening to him play the piano. The sun was just setting. Clarice could not identify the piece he played, but she didn't need to know what it was to enjoy his playing.<p>

Three months ago, she was still an FBI Agent in pursuit of the Doctor, wanting to bring him to "justice." How things could change in such a short period of time.

On the table next to her was a bottle of red wine they would share later, perhaps when they ate dinner outside on the terrace. It was a lovely room – perhaps the loveliest they had stayed in during their tour of Europe so far. Clarice couldn't believe she was able to get out of the States to see all of this. Even more difficult to believe was _who_ she accompanied here.

After she got over the initial shock of it, Clarice couldn't help wondering: _why her_? Not that she wasn't having the best time of her life; she was, without question. But obviously, the Doctor was a man of great tastes, very cultured. She was just a young woman from West Virginia. She was beautiful, but looks could only carry a relationship so far. She expected any day now that he would tire of her.

Clarice let a tiny sigh escape as she looked at Hannibal, overwhelmed by her feelings of affection for him. She knew it was love that she felt, and lust was certainly in that equation too. He made her body feel things that it had never felt before. Clarice never wanted it to stop, but she expected it would – on his part. It was only a matter of time. She was not his intellectual equal and could not match wine with food as perfectly as he did. She didn't know much about travel or other cultures. She couldn't even name the damn cantata he was playing. He probably felt like he was talking to a rock when he spoke to her. A trashy rock with a stupid trailer park accent.

Hannibal felt her despair and stopped playing abruptly. He turned his body on the piano bench to face her, a curious look on his face.

"What?" she asked innocently.

It was scary, how perceptive he was. Sometimes Clarice swore that he could read her mind. In fact, she knew he could.

"What was that sigh for, Clarice?" he asked, cocking his head. "Did you not enjoy my playing? Or perhaps you've grown bored with it. We can do something else, if you like. I've already got something in mind." He smiled, his blue eyes traveling over her body.

Clarice felt the color rise to her cheeks, shaking her head. "I love your playing," she replied simply.

"Then there is something else occupying your mind. Some reason why you can't enjoy the music like you normally do," he guessed. Hannibal stood and walked over to where she sat, crouching down and taking her foot in his hand. He caressed it slowly, lovingly, and Clarice closed her eyes and leaned her head back in pleasure. Hannibal waited patiently for her to speak again. Even if she did not speak, he could have played with her feet all night and enjoyed every moment of it. They were so shapely and soft, the most feminine feet he had ever seen. He could not deny that he had a fetish for them.

"I was just thinking about something," she told him, unsure of how to voice her worries to him.

Hannibal brushed his lips against the sole of her left foot, indicating that he was listening. Clarice shivered, realizing that he had never once told her that he loved her. They had never said those dreaded three words to each other. Was it implied? Did Hannibal simply not want to lie to her? Clarice let out a breath and continued.

"The past three months… have been the best of my life. And all these places are absolutely beautiful, even if I don't fully understand them yet. The plays you've taken me to, the operas – it's all been great."

Hannibal stiffened. This sounded like a disclaimer of some sort. What was she going to tell him now? That this life just wasn't right for her? That she wanted to go back to America and get back in with the FBI? Well, if that was what she wanted… he was still determined to be a free man, however – Clarice or no Clarice. He relaxed and went back to massaging her foot, though with a little less vigor.

Sensing his uneasiness at how she had begun, Clarice quickly added, "I don't ever want it to end. I lo… want to stay with you. I just don't know if that's the intention you had for me."

He caught her almost-slip, but pretended as though he had noticed nothing. His mind again went back to her former job, and he asked, "What is it, Clarice? Don't tell me that you cannot feel some self-worth as an ex-Agent?"

She shook her head again. It was unsettling how he always had to go back to her obsession with her career – well, _former_ obsession. The Bureau could go fuck itself now, for all she cared. He probably only mentioned it just to rattle her. He always did enjoy teasing her. "It's not that at all," she answered. "Look at how different you and I are, Hannibal. Are you sure you don't mind the difference? Not just in age, but life experiences. All the cultures, music, and culinary arts you know – I got through most of college on canned soup and frozen pizzas." Clarice avoided his eye; now she _was_ ashamed. It all sounded worse now that she admitted it aloud to him.

Hannibal said nothing and seemed quite unshaken by her speech. He continued to play with her foot, going so far as to put one of her toes in his warm mouth, making her shiver again. He moved his free hand slowly up her calf to her thigh. In response, she put her hand over his and pushed it away, instead of moving it higher like she had wanted to. "_Don't_. Don't make me want you like this if you're just going to leave," she hissed at him.

Excited by her apparent anger at him, he pulled her panties down forcefully and pushed her skirt up so that his tongue could have full access to the warmth between her legs. The scent was All Clarice, the way it smelled when she was highly aroused by him. Hannibal thrived on that. Clarice couldn't deny him again, so she tried to relax and enjoy it. It was temporary, after all. Shouldn't she just enjoy it while he was still willing to do that for her?

She was still perturbed, and was on the fast track to furious as he went down on her. So he had not even bothered to try and put an end to her doubt. That meant this was not long-term for him, as she suspected. He didn't love her back and he just wanted her to shack up with him for a while. Then he'd move on, leaving her with her stupid, broken existence. "God_damnit_," she breathed, putting her hand on his head and shoving him away, much as she wanted him to continue. She stood, letting her underwear fall to the floor, and glared at him.

"No need to swear at me, Clarice," Hannibal replied, standing up to be at eye level with her. "If I'm not doing it right, I'm sure you can instruct me as to how you would like it. You know I am not miserly when it comes to pleasing you."

"It's only about the sex, isn't it?" she whispered, turning her face away from him.

Now Hannibal sighed. He could see she was not going to let either of them enjoy their evening together unless he told her what he was thinking – what he had been thinking for quite some time now.

"Of course I want you to stay with me, Clarice. More than likely, for the rest of my life. I don't see you as intellectually inferior. I know you're smart, otherwise I wouldn't be here with you right now," he began, looking into her eyes intensely. "I can teach you to match wines to food, tell you what composer wrote what, and what the French consider fashionable. That's all too easy. I enjoy showing you these things, Clarice. It's a charming life, yes, but it gets lonely if you have no one to share it with as I do now."

She watched him, unable to reply immediately, so he continued.

"What's not easy, Clarice, is finding an intriguing, sensible, and highly intelligent woman who can look past my flaws – no, I do not consider my cannibalism a flaw, merely a lifestyle choice – my so-called 'criminal history,' and care for me as you do. But now that I've managed that, I've no intention of letting it slip through my fingers."

He hoped she was satisfied now. She still was not looking at him. Hannibal wrapped an arm around her waist and whispered, "Come here," pulling her closer to him in a tight embrace. "Clarice, I love you too. I'm sorry I've not said it before now. I thought I'd give you a chance to figure out what you want first, but now that you know for certain, I have no problems telling you that."

She kissed his neck and buried her face in his chest, still speechless. She wasn't sure how long he held her before she pulled away, her lips now turned up in a sly smile.

Clarice undid her dress and let it fall to the floor too, then lay back down on the couch. "What was your idea earlier? About something we could do?"

"You interrupted me, but I suppose I can get back to it."

"Please do."

Hannibal smiled at her and walked over to close the blinds. He did not want anyone sharing the sight of Clarice. _His_ Clarice, in all her pretty nakedness.

It was the first time she gave herself to him without worry. Clarice was a mental virgin, and she was completely willing to let him have her in all kinds of ways.

They never even got to the wine.


End file.
